Freya Mikaelson is Tired™ (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} frelsi) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} valarlogs, |
"At the time? Of course not."
As if anyone would know what Dahlia was up to when she had always been so careful to keep things hidden beneath the veneer of respectability. The question on if it was a conversation best left for a different time had Freya shrug. Her ideal would be never, but the can of worms was open and it was best to just get it over and done with.
"Now is fine." It meant she couldn't find excuses to put off the conversation. Especially now that Elijah knew something had happened and thus wasn't going to let it go even if they postponed the conversation.
"If I had to pinpoint when the manipulation started, it was probably from the beginning when I was five and had to go stay with her because I was sick and Klaus had just been born. You were three at the time so I don't know how much you remember from then." Shrugging, Freya leaned against the back of the bench they were on. She had done this conversation sober once before, she could do it again.
"Anyway, after that, you know how I was always doing errands for her. She'd slip in these comments that I never made much sense of, didn't think much on at the time," even as a kid Freya had always been busy with things, "But they seeped into my consciousness, chipped away at my self esteem and views of self worth. When I went to England for school, she convinced our parents that she should be the one to keep an eye on me."
Freya had wanted to get away from expectations and to finally be free to be herself but of course that hadn't been the case. How could it be with Dahlia there to ensure she maintained the perfect image so as 'not to bring shame' to the family.
"Well her version of keeping an eye on me meant that the only time I was every allowed out of where we were living was to go to class or to run errands for her," One of the first signs of abuse? Isolation. "She was very intent on finding me a proper husband and was really hoping Percy and I would end up together." The comment was made with an eye roll. She and Percy had been friends then and now but romantic interest? Hardly.
For the time being, her voice was mostly controlled. There was a strain to it but that was it. But the next part of what she had to say.... that was when the pain and fear would creep in. All these years later, even with Dahlia dead...
"Second year, I met Christina. She was amazing.... we began to see each other in secret. Or I thought so at any rate. Dahlia caught us and...it was bad. She ended up getting Christina kicked out of university. Told me that I was a disgrace to the family and if any of you knew, I'd be shunned but not to worry because she'd keep my dirty little secret and find a way for me to maintain the family name." Shaking her head bitterly, Freya took a breath, "And by that time, she had managed to isolate me so much, chip away at my sense of self that I believed her. I'm sure she was managing the phone calls back home, lying about messages to isolate me further.... Anyway. It got...worse... living with her and by the end of the year I couldn't take it anymore. I tried to kill myself."
Swallowing, Freya kept her gaze forward. She couldn't look at Elijah right then. While she had kept her gaze forward anyway, now it was especially important so that she didn't lose her self control - even as she was tense, body seemingly coiled and ready to bolt.
"She found me, and had yet another secret to hold over my head, another way to shame me. I was institutionalized for the summer and then it was back to living with her for my last year at university. Then I went to grad school and never stayed in any one place for longer than a year and a half to avoid her ever finding me and trying to control me as she had been doing."
Shrugging as if it were nothing, Freya finally took a drink of her coffee as if she hadn't just revealed all the trauma, abuse and manipulation as if it were just a story. Three times telling it and it still wasn't easy to get the words out.